


Come back again (and again and again and again)

by electricblueninja



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, Smut, the hot fix-it guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts because the bottle explodes. Enter knight in shining overalls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The bottle explodes

**Author's Note:**

> Because of shit like [ this](https://38.media.tumblr.com/ba53abac1562b600cd7eccc7b7b246c4/tumblr_nbc8jk1QYH1qbpuddo2_250.gif)
> 
> And [ this](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/amidsttidbits/51978313/21451/21451_original.gif)
> 
> And [ these](http://hexamarillion.tumblr.com/post/124063912945/dongjong-doing-some-cheesy-scene-feat)
> 
> And [ THIS](https://36.media.tumblr.com/d16939c8fca0565c4276f6281a27c4a2/tumblr_n20xz6yKqJ1sdt84zo1_1280.jpg)

Dongwoo was not one for negative emotions.

But as he stared down at the disaster on the couch, there was definitely a feeling of dread welling up in the pit of his stomach.

At this point, the logistics of how and why the soda bottle had spread its contents all over the living room were irrelevant. The fact was that it had happened, and now Dongwoo and everything else in the room was covered in wet, sticky, melon-scented fizz. This wouldn’t have been so bad…except that the bottle had pointed itself in the direction of the pile of clean laundry one of his housemates had left on the couch, and neither Woohyun nor Myungsoo dressed cheaply.

He set down the mostly-empty bottle of soda on the coffee table, and pulled off his shirt to inspect the damage.

Until twenty seconds ago, it had been a plain white t-shirt. Now it was covered in a vivid spatter pattern of radioactive green. His pig boxers had also become an attractive combination of pink and lime, like the pig had contracted some kind of illness.

This did not bode well for the white shirts in the heap of clean laundry.

All he had wanted was a cup of soda to make his overdue coursework more tolerable. Come to mention it, just to add insult to injury, _that_ seemed to be the only thing in the room undamaged by the incident.

He heaved a sigh at the bubbly fabrics, and paused a moment to contemplate his housemates’ possible responses to lime green tie-dye, but no. It did not bear imagining. No. 

The dread crept up from his stomach and towards his brain as he began to accept the only logical solution. 

He must brave it.

The washing machine.

Stifling his growing anxiety, he tried a verbal reassurance. ‘If Woohyun can operate it, how hard can it be?’ he said to the heap of clothes. 

Alas, they only fizzed a dying fizz, and it was not very reassuring.

His next step to quell the rising panic was action. Heaving a deep breath, he scooped up the splattered mess, and carried it back into the kitchen. 

He paused in the doorway, startled to see that the dreaded whitegood was waiting for him with an open maw. The door had long ago ceased to close properly unless a load was actually in it, so that the electronic lock would switch on. He _knew_ that, and yet...it seemed somehow menacing.

But really, he had no choice.

He didn’t bother checking the damage of each article of clothing. After all, there were still the stains in the soft furnishings to deal with, sinking in deeper by the second. So he just crammed it all in in one go, tossed in some washing powder and flicked the switch before heading back to the couch with a roll of paper towel.

Ten minutes later, he heard a strange bang and a crash, followed by a whirr.

He stuck his head around the corner with a now-familiar sense of dread, and was confronted with a sudsy winter wonderland.

It just…was not his day.


	2. Not a sock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sungjong expects the usual Sunday emergency call, but not what it entails.

Sungjong had seen a lot of things since he started working for his uncle’s repair company. 

Weekday shifts tended to be quiet. He’d deal with a few calls from housewives and remove errant socks from water hoses and show them how to make sure all the taps were on correctly; things like that, maybe with an installation or two. The weekends, on the other hand, meant a disproportionate number of malfunctioning laundries—especially on Sundays. 

He told himself it was worth the extra money. But that was only just true. What with everyone trying to get their laundry done in time for Monday, it was always on Sundays that he would encounter disgruntled husbands, angry housewives, and bewildered adolescents: always intolerable, and often aggressive. 

So, he had perfected a technique to get in and out of these perilous Sunday appointments as quickly as possible.

He liked to think of it as his resting bitch face, and he always made sure he had it on whenever he knocked on a door, so that the person with the misbehaving whitegoods would know beyond a doubt that he was there to fix the problem and then leave. Wearing this expression the first time they clapped eyes on him was integral in deterring the disgruntled husbands, angry housewives, and bewildered adolescents from taking out their frustrations on him.

Today was definitely the first time he’d knocked on a door to be greeted by some half-naked muscly floppy-haired guy in his underwear. 

He did a double take, genuinely startled by the amount of skin on display, and it seriously interrupted his air of practiced boredom. Tanned skin, broad shoulders and what Sungjong could only describe as an unnecessary quantity of muscles, topped—or rather bottomed—by inexplicably green-splattered pig shaped boxers that had no business existing anywhere, ever, at all, even in his wildest nightmares, but refused to be unseen.

Fortunately, the muscly guy looked at least twice as alarmed as Sungjong. He was in panic mode, his pupils dilated so far that they nearly filled his eyeballs, and he didn’t even seem to notice Sungjong’s surprise at his state of undress.

‘Idon’tknowhowithappeneditjustexploded,’ he said in one breath.

Sungjong looked past him into the apartment.

It was covered in foam.

He felt his eyebrows move upwards involuntarily. There was one word on his lips—How?—but with a Herculean effort he swallowed it down, because Pig Boxers was staring at him with genuine fear in his eyes.

‘Can I come in?’ he said, instead, and Pig Boxers nodded and pulled him in by the arm before padding on bare feet into the sudsy kitchen. He stopped in front of the washing machine and stared at it like it had ripped out his heart and eaten it. Sungjong was usually resolved to keep these meetings as impassive as possible, but now, seeing the look on Pig Boxers’ face, he felt the stirrings of something annoyingly like pity. There was something almost beautiful about the ironic tableau: here was an almost-naked man so well-muscled that he rippled when he breathed. By all rights, he should have been a majestic sight. Except…he was a grown man wearing pink pig boxers, surrounded by bubbles in a domestic disaster zone, looking helpless and defeated.

‘I really don’t know how it happened,’ he said, turning back to Sungjong and looking vaguely teary as he ran his hands through his hair.

‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ Sungjong said, in what he hoped was a comforting tone. It was probably true, after all.

He joined Pig Boxers in the kitchen to look at the offending machine, setting his toolbox down on the least foamy patch of floor and checking the job slip for something better to call Pig Boxers than Pig Boxers.

‘Your name is Jang, right?’

‘Oh. Yeah. Sorry! I’m sorry. Yeah, I’m Jang…Dongwoo. Call me Dongwoo, um…’

‘Lee Sungjong from Quick Fix at your service,’ Sungjong said in a sing-song voice.

It earned him a tremulous smile.

‘Okay, Quick Fix Lee Sungjong,’ he parroted, exaggerating the syllables of Sungjong’s name with his lips in a way that was only mildly distracting, ‘Can I get you anything? I mean, do you need anything? I’d offer you some soda but…that’s how this all started.’ He paused for a moment, and then continued with an air of embarrassed defeat. ‘It exploded.’

It was a testament to Sungjong’s willpower that he did not laugh aloud.

He took a deep breath in through his nose to steady himself, and made sure the bubble of hysterical laughter had diffused before he spoke. 

‘Thanks. I’m okay. Just fill me in on what actually happened to the washing machine.’

Dongwoo held his hands up in a gesture of bewilderment. ‘I don’t know. I just put everything that got covered in soda in there and pressed “go”…and then it started making noises while I was in the loungeroom…and then I came back because it went bang, and there was soap everywhere.’

‘If it’s any comfort, as a general rule, the bigger the mess, the smaller the actual problem.’ 

A quick assessment of the recalcitrant washing machine, which the mostly-naked Dongwoo dragged out from under the sink with considerable vim and a whole lot of good form, revealed that this was indeed the case. The hose was broken, probably because of the amount of washing the poor thing had been subjected to in however many centuries it had been in use, and the seal of the door was of a similar vintage. 

He replaced both. It only took about an hour, and it was an easy job. He told Dongwoo that he could go and relax or something, but Dongwoo hovered around awkwardly anyway, making small talk.

Sungjong was confused about this at first. Appreciative, kind of, because Dongwoo had an easy manner and told a lot of crappy jokes, which made his own menial job less boring. Homework was mentioned, once or twice, in a vague sort of way, and Sungjong reached the conclusion that his companion just wanted to procrastinate.

At least, that was his working hypothesis until about half an hour in, when, as he crawled out backwards from behind the machine, he went to make eye contact with his client as he turned around, and Dongwoo’s gaze flicked guiltily upwards, his face reddening.


	3. Services rendered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The small matter of payment

Sungjong was not exactly what Dongwoo had been expecting in a whitegoods technician.

He wasn’t really sure what he had expected, but it hadn’t been someone young or tall or good-looking, and definitely not all three. Repairmen were supposed to be uncles who swore a lot, not…not like this.

Of course, in his initial panic he hadn’t really registered quite how young and tall and good-looking his whitegoods technician was. It was only gradually—as the haughty features softened, and the gentle voice started to make kind reassurances, and he knelt down in the foam on the kitchen floor and got on all fours to climb under the bench—that his various good characteristics came, one by one, to Dongwoo’s attention.

But today was...one of those days, so of course, _of course_ , he caught him staring.

He seemed willing to let it slide, though. Or at least, he didn’t _say_ anything, so…pass?

Dongwoo recovered what little of his dignity was left by helping his knight in shining overalls push the washing machine back into place, and proceeded to die quietly on the inside while Sungjong helped him separate the soda-ed clothing into darks and lights, and measure out bleach to soak the white shirts, was generally gracious, funny and kind, and continued not to mention the fact that he had caught Dongwoo staring at his butt.

This only made Dongwoo feel worse.

Then, after Sungjong had presented Dongwoo with the slip to sign, and knelt down to clean up his kit, he had another awkward realization.

‘Um,’ he said, shifting uncomfortably.

Maybe the dread in his stomach was becoming a fixture.

Maybe he should name it.

Maybe it should pay rent, which would have solved the present problem.

‘Quick Fix Sungjong-ssi. The thing is. It’s Sunday. And...well. My bank card is being replaced. So. Uh. The thing is... I don’t have any money until tomorrow.’ He stared resolutely at the floor next to the technician’s boots, furious with it for staying in one piece when it should clearly just swallow him whole and put him out of his misery.

He could feel Sungjong’s eyes on him.

‘Oh,’ he said.

‘I...I’m really sorry...I didn’t think.’

The other man got to his feet, and Dongwoo was uncomfortably aware that the young man was quite a lot taller than his soft, youthful features led one to expect.

‘So...you can’t pay.’

Dongwoo squirmed. ‘Not...not today. Tomorrow...tomorrow I can pay. If you can wait one day...’

Sungjong made a small noise of refusal. ‘I’m sorry, Dongwoo. I can’t. My boss would kill me.’

Dongwoo closed his eyes and welcomed death, but it didn’t come.

Instead, Sungjong’s soft voice said, ‘I have an idea, though,’ and it was enough to convince Dongwoo to reopen one eye.

 

>>>\------------------------<<<

 

Sungjong was not usually an impulsive person, so what he did next was uncharacteristic.

‘You can pay me another way,’ he said.

Dongwoo had never bothered to put any more clothes on, and the expansion and contraction of his torso had quickened when he confessed the problem, staring resolutely at the floor. It seemed to accelerate again when Sungjong threw the invisible lifeline of an alternative.

‘I can?’ He peered at Sungjong with one eye, chewing nervously on his lower lip.

Sungjong stared back, mesmerised by the glint of white teeth. His brain, with infallible logic, said, _This is so illegal, and also you’re going to hell,_ but he still went ahead and outlined his brilliant idea anyway.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’ll cover you, and you can pay tomorrow. If you kiss me.’


	4. Extra professional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As in, no longer professional

There was a really long pause before Dongwoo responded. At first, he just stood there staring, his teeth still digging into the plush of his lower lip. His mouth was tilting up at one corner, ready to laugh, as though he was waiting for the punchline of the joke. But as time dragged on, and Sungjong failed to deliver one, his eyelids fluttered, and his smile faltered. His lips trembled and parted slightly, but no words came out. His expression was suddenly vacant enough to make Sungjong start to wonder if he’d misread something.

He was just starting to think he should take it back and say he’d been joking, when Jang Dongwoo took a deep breath and said, ‘Okay.’

He stood there staring up at him shyly for a moment. Then he looked away and mumbled, ‘But you have to close your eyes.’

Relief flooded through Sungjong with unexpected potency. Something about the shyness, the pleading undertone in Dongwoo's voice, made him feel surprisingly hot under the collar. He wished he could say he’d made man of the match and taken over the moment, but instead he just did as Dongwoo told him, closing his eyes and turning his face down a little to compensate for their height difference.

He felt Dongwoo step in towards him. He felt it because Dongwoo was warm. Warm, like sunlight on your body when you lay on the balcony in the middle of summer; like stepping into a heated room after walking through a winter’s evening frost; like the shower turned on full first thing in the morning; like the warmth before a monsoon storm. His nerves began to dance with anticipation. Suddenly, the other man wasn't _just_ warm and close—he was _too_ close, and _too_ warm, and hadn't even touched him yet.

Then, soft lips brushed against his. They were every bit as smooth and pliant as he’d imagined, but it was over too soon. It was barely a moment. Barely even a full second. 

It was not a real kiss, and Sungjong was unsatisfied. His nerves had moved from dance to an urgent tangle. It was no longer simple anticipation.

Careful to keep his eyes closed, as Dongwoo pulled away, he reached out for the other man’s arm, and caught him by the wrist.

‘No,’ he said, surprised by the tone of command in his own voice, ‘Do it properly.’

There was another long, hot silence, in which Dongwoo didn’t say anything, and it took all of Sungjong's willpower to keep his eyes closed against his torturous curiosity about Dongwoo's expression.

Dongwoo, after a moment of apparent hesitation, drew close again. And after a moment, rather unexpectedly, cautious fingertips traced over Sungjong’s mouth.

Sungjong parted his lips slightly, instinctively. The fingertips drifted down to hold his chin, and Dongwoo’s hot mouth covered his again, offering a little more of everything. 

Sungjong found himself shoved back against the wall with a thud. The unexpected impact jolted him: a rather unsubtle reminder that, however soft his mouth was, the rest of Dongwoo was hard as rock. 

Those muscles were clearly not ornamental. 

Leaning into the kiss, Sungjong tilted his head so he could slip his tongue into Dongwoo’s waiting mouth, and Dongwoo emitted a small sound that was at least eighty percent encouragement. His hands had both slipped to Sungjong’s hips, his fingers curling tightly around his back. 

Through a pleasant haze, it occurred to Sungjong that it was strangely comfortable to be doing this particular thing with this particular person, despite the fact they’d never met before today. And God, Dongwoo’s lips were so _thick…_ and he didn’t pull back at all. 

This time, it was Sungjong who withdrew, unable to keep the smug expression from his face.

‘Better,’ he said silkily, reluctantly removing his hands from where they rested on Dongwoo’s hot sides. ‘Much better.’

Dongwoo stepped away, and started staring at the floor again as he slowly went the same colour as his boxers.

The pink part, not the green.

Sungjong’s conscience took this moment to arrive on the scene, and flood him with embarrassment. 

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’ll, uh, get going. Uh. Don’t forget to, uh, keep your whites soaking. And make sure they’re a cold wash.’

Dongwoo’s eyes flicked up to his, full of…something. He nodded slowly.

Sungjong forged ahead with what little courage he had left. ‘And…I’ll come round tomorrow when I finish work, at 6.’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay. See you then.’ The guilt was really starting to settle in now. Sungjong picked up his toolbox and turned away.

He was nearly out the door when he turned back.

‘I just have to clarify something. Make sure you’re wearing pants next time. The place we’re going has a dress-code. You know…’ —he paused for effect— ‘Clothes.’

Dongwoo went a brilliant shade of crimson.

‘Is that okay, Jang-nim? You pay me, and I buy you dinner.’

For a long moment, Dongwoo looked stupefied.

‘…Jang-nim?’

‘Y-y-yeah. Okay.’

'Okay. Great.'

Sungjong left, then, without looking back, hoping Dongwoo wouldn't see how red his ears went.


	5. Weapon of mass distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or: the impossibility of concentrating on anything other than the mouth of Jang Dongwoo

When Sungjong pulled up in front of Dongwoo’s apartment block the following evening, he took a couple of minutes to sit there and collect his thoughts.

He’d taken measures to look like less of a…well…less like a repairman, basically, before he got there; dropping off the work van and going home to change his clothes and pick up his own car. He’d had a moment’s hesitation over what to wear, but quickly refused to let himself overthink it, and gone for dark jeans and a button-down. After all, literally all of his regular clothes were fancier than his work overalls. And he’d never even seen Dongwoo dressed yet.

Maybe they wouldn’t even recognise each other, dressed like normal people.

The thought brought a smile to his face, but it quickly faded away, replaced by nerves.

He wasn’t quite sure what he thought he was here for. Or, well, he was: it was a date.

But did Dongwoo know it was a date?

Even the familiar sensation of the steering wheel under his hands—his usual way of regaining a sense of control—brought him no comfort.

_I must be crazy._

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and the memories of the afternoon before came flooding into his mind: a frenzied blur of crisp, clear snapshots.

Skin.

Shoulders.

Eyes.

Lips.

He shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the slideshow.

_Yup. I'm crazy._

The day had been so busy, and he had almost been grateful for the excuse not to reflect on the one preceding, but now that he _did_ think about it…well, making out with a customer in lieu of payment for services rendered probably fit the definition of ‘wildly inappropriate’. And if anyone ever found out...Like, if Jang Dongwoo had realised he was completely unhinged, and called in to warn his uncle that one of his employees was going about taking advantage of hot young athletic men in the throes of a domestic emergency…

‘Is that you, Quick Fix?’ said a voice, and Sungjong jumped so violently he nearly hit his head on the roof.

Jang Dongwoo was standing at the window on the passenger’s side, peering in at him.

‘I thought I’d wait downstairs, in case, you know, you didn’t remember the address, or something. But then, I realised you found it by yourself in the first place, yesterday, but then, I realised didn’t have any idea what your car looked like because I didn’t see you get here yesterday, because I was upstairs, but then, even if I had seen, I was so freaked out I probably wouldn’t even remember, so I realised it was probably kind of dumb, but then I thought that you…kind of looked like you…so…’ He trailed off, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Sungjong closed his mouth, which had sort of started to come open as he watched Dongwoo’s lips move.

He cleared his throat, annoyed with himself.

‘Uh, thank you. Thanks a lot. It’s good,’ he said, and immediately wanted to kick himself for being brilliantly inane. “But then”, the words were out; there was no taking them back now. ‘I..uh…I hope you’re hungry?’

Dongwoo smiled and nodded, his eyelashes tangling in the thick dark overhang of his fringe. ‘Starving,’ he said, so Sungjong gestured for him to get in, and Dongwoo settled into the passenger seat. Sungjong tried not to look at him too long, but looked long enough to take in the outfit. Nothing fancy—tight light jeans, a black t-shirt, skate shoes—but there was something about Dongwoo that made them look…good. Better than they should. He didn’t want to say anything though. That might be creepy.

Dongwoo, after a moment, passed Sungjong an envelope. ‘Payment,’ he said, ‘for yesterday. Sorry I messed up. I got cash out first thing.’

Sungjong nodded, and reached over Dongwoo to tuck the envelope into the glovebox without opening it.

As he straightened back into his own seat, Dongwoo shot him a soft, surprised look that made him want to turn on the aircon.

‘You’re not gonna count it?’ he asked.

Sungjong shook his head, and said, ‘Put your seatbelt on.’

 

>\------------------------------------------<

For dinner, he’d chosen a burger joint, kind of nearby. After thinking about it for probably far too long, he’d decided on burgers as the safest possible dinner option. They were familiar, he knew how to eat them, he knew the restaurant was good, and, more than any other dinner food he’d been able to think of, burgers were not date-y. 

He’d almost wanted to ask his mother what to do about it, but balked at the last moment. Not because he was taking a man to dinner—she was already well-aware of her son’s preferences—but because she would have been far too excited about the prospect of him actually going on a date, and would never have let him leave the house in jeans.

Anyway, this last point, about the date-y-ness of food, was important. After sort of…forcing his hand yesterday, he felt a little ashamed of himself, and sorry towards Dongwoo, so taking him someplace to eat something un-date-y was important. And of all things, surely _burgers_ were not sexual.

At least, that was what he’d thought, right up until the point when he saw Dongwoo eating one.

They made small talk after placing their order for burgers, fries, and soda, establishing their age differences (Dongwoo was the hyung), study, and family backgrounds.

They'd gotten as far as a discussion of their siblings when their food came to the table, and Sungjong learned that burgers could be sensuous: he could only watch, mesmerised, as Dongwoo's thick lips parted to make way for the buns and everything in between.

It was so painfully erotic to watch that it was almost a relief when, in a moment of clumsiness, trying to finish his chips, Dongwoo upended melon soda all over the table and his tight light-coloured jeans.

They made an emergency exit after that, Dongwoo apologising profusely for the entire drive back to his apartment, and completely ignoring Sungjong’s assurances that it was fine.

Pulling up in the parking lot, Sungjong killed the engine.

Dongwoo’s apologies had lapsed about thirty seconds ago, and they sat in silence for a moment, Sungjong gripping the steering wheel so tight he could feel his knuckles trying to push out through his skin.

‘I had fun tonight,’ Dongwoo said, suddenly and softly. ‘Thanks for dinner. And…sorry…’

‘No, no,’ Sungjong interrupted, but he had nothing to follow it up with, and they lapsed into silence again.

He stared resolutely at the garden bed in front of their parking space. It was illuminated by a street light, and he inspected every monochrome detail.

Beside him, he heard the seat creak as Dongwoo shifted his weight, and felt the other man’s shoulder against his own as he leaned across and kissed him on the cheek, the press of his lips sweet and shy.

Sungjong turned his head to meet Dongwoo’s eyes, startled, and was met with a grin.

‘You thought that maybe I thought this wasn’t a date, didn’t you,’ said Dongwoo, and Sungjong...well, he had nothing by way of witty riposte, so he just nodded.

Dongwoo’s grin widened. ‘Okay. Well, it would be cool if we could do this again sometime, Sungjong-ah. You have my number.’

Sungjong watched him go. ‘I… I’ll call you,’ he said, heart racing from the sudden improvement of the situation. ‘G-good night!’ he called after Dongwoo as he shut the car door with a soft thud.

Dongwoo gave him a smile that travelled through several phases, each equally delightful. His plush lips bunched up, first, in preparation for the smile itself, then widened into a bright, sunshiny smile that force his eyes to crinkle at the corners, and lastly the lower lip was pressed down by straight white teeth as the smile was reined back into a more neutral expression. He waved through the passenger seat window before walking the short distance back into the apartment building.

Sungjong just stared as he watched Dongwoo cross the building and start up the stairs.

Somehow, over the course of the evening, he’d not been in a position to see Jang Dongwoo from behind, and _damn if it wasn’t the best thing he’d ever seen in his life._ How had he failed to notice his _ass_? It was like...like...

Dongwoo had made it to the fourth floor by the time Sungjong regained control of his brain, letting out a sound of exasperation as he rested his head on the steering wheel. _What am I doing? All I can say is “I’ll call you, good night?” And he knew it was a date. He knew. And he kissed me._ He _kissed_ me. _He_ kissed _me_.

He began to headbutt the steering wheel with some force, because this trail of thought had led right back to images of those soft full lips parting for meaty buns, and those tight, light pants…

Tormented by his indecision, Sungjong felt his heart start to quicken. But what were his options, really?

One: crawl away with his tail between his legs and regret it forever.

Two: take a risk.

Sungjong was not, by nature, an impulsive person. He studied engineering. He liked procedures. But on the balance of things, taking a risk yesterday had paid off.

On the balance of things, the bigger risk was doing nothing, and letting a once-in-a-lifetime chance slip away.

He got out of the car, retraced Dongwoo’s journey up the stairs.

 _It’s now or never, Lee Sungjong,_ he told himself firmly, and knocked on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my beta. You know who you are.


	6. Dividends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I guess I'd better go back and change the rating now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ I hate his face TT](http://41.media.tumblr.com/0077e17f6e44f775d5ce4ddbb76132fb/tumblr_ndwe4lUckx1skecsuo6_1280.jpg)
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> [ Also this.](http://cfile228.uf.daum.net/image/1869D439517788B7370892)

Dongwoo stepped back inside his apartment, and the door had barely closed behind him before he collapsed against it, sliding down into a crouch until his butt hit the floor and he could literally slump no further. He cupped his face in his hands so firmly that he could see a little bit of his own cheeks as he silently warred with himself over the things that he could have said or done.

The most important thing he should have said was _Come upstairs_.

That was the most important one.

Because although he felt embarrassed and a little bit dirty for even thinking about it, there were…well…certain _practical_ concerns that were starting to occur to him. Such as the fact that his housemates rarely voluntarily left the house. Which had been fine, up until now, because up until now, there had been no obscenely attractive, willowy repairmen with shampoo-commercial nice hair and soft eyes at Dongwoo’s door or kissing Dongwoo in the hallway or taking Dongwoo out to dinner. And although he felt embarrassed and a little bit dirty for even thinking about sex on a first date, the practical part of his brain and a less practical but more immediately relevant part of his anatomy were both disappointed by the sense of losing a good opportunity, regardless of his more delicate sensibilities.

He sat there for fifteen whole minutes, just staring at the clock on the opposite wall and wishing he’d had the sense to ask for _Sungjong’s_ number.

What if he never called back?

What if he’d just blown the only shot he’d ever get with a hot repairman?

When the knock came, it almost scared the life out of him.

Woohyun or Myungsoo, home early?

He jumped to his feet with a start, and opened the door to find himself nose-to-chest with Lee Sungjong, for the second time in as many days.

Sungjong’s sweeping dark hair had elevated dramatically in the fifteen minutes they’d been apart, and as much as his first expression yesterday had been snooty and superior, now his gaze was backlit, hot, like water about to boil over.

As they made eye contact, though, a little of the ferocity filtered out of the taller man’s expression, replaced by colour splashed high across his cheekbones.

‘I—’ he began.

‘Come here,’ replied Dongwoo, who had never had very good impulse control.

He grabbed the younger man by his shirtfront, pulling him inside. The thud of the door closing behind them echoed with the thump as he pushed Sungjong up against the wall. Standing on tiptoe, he pressed their lips together, and the latter’s body yielded to his weight, relaxing against the wall.

Dongwoo was careful, at first, with how he kissed, because it took Sungjong a moment to respond. But when he _did_ begin to kiss back, it was about as mild and subtle as a volcano erupting. Just when he had thought to push his way deeper into the kiss, maybe even slip his tongue between those soft lips, Dongwoo found himself pushed across the narrow hall. His back connected with the opposing wall, and Sungjong bore down on him, all soft mouth and soft skin and sharp jaw and long fingers, some of which tangled in Dongwoo’s hair, while the others pressed against his throat, pulling him upwards into an onslaught of sensations and a cloud of the faint smell of mint chewing gum.

He moaned a little, not exactly in protest; more in annoyance that he couldn’t work out what to do with his hands, which were trapped awkwardly against Sungjong’s body.

He worked it out quickly, though, because Sungjong’s crotch was ideally positioned, and he only needed to turn his wrist to gently close his hand over Sungjong’s dick and balls, squeezing softly, getting a sense of his size and shape.

They pulled apart, each with a breath of surprise.

‘Oh,’ said Dongwoo.

‘Dongwoo, I—sorry. I—’

‘No, no, no no no no,’ Dongwoo interrupted, before realising this might give entirely the wrong message. ‘No,’ he said, trying again, ‘I mean _yes_. Let’s do it.’

Sungjong, who was going the most becoming shade of pink that embarrassment had to offer, snapped back into the present, his eyes widening as Dongwoo took advantage of his distraction to reclaim the upper hand—so to speak—spinning them to push Sungjong against the wall.

Then, it was Sungjong’s turn to say ‘Oh,’ because until that point Dongwoo’s hand had been relatively inactive, but now he began rub his palm against the length of Sungjong’s aspiring cock, and encourage its grand ambitions.

>>>\----------------------------------------------------<<<

 

Sungjong wasn’t sure if he was embarrassingly responsive, or if Dongwoo was just _that good_ with his hands, because it took remarkably little coaxing before he was straining against the rough, restrictive denim of his jeans, and he wasn’t sure whether or not he liked it. His coherent thoughts were rapidly decreasing as the blood flooded the rest of his body, leaving him stranded on a mental island of excitement, urgency, and barely controllable instinct.

It didn’t help that Dongwoo had this…this _look_ on his face, while his hand worked its magic; this calm, smug smile on his full, thick lips, and this… _anticipation_ in his eyes. It was giving Sungjong a hard time, because it was as though the sight bypassed Sungjong’s brain and rushed headlong down into the roiling knot of lust inhabiting the pit of his stomach.

  
He grasped wildly at the strands of basic function that still lingered in mental reach, as well as Dongwoo’s wrist, trying to still him; Dongwoo acquiesced, sensing the urgency behind the gesture, a flicker of concern dampening his lascivious smirk.

 _Words. Come on, Sungjong, words._ ‘Dongwoo…do you have, uh—’

Dongwoo’s mouth opened into an ‘o’ as he bumped along the faint trail of Sungjong’s thought process and landed in the same place.

‘Oh,’ he said, which was clearly the word of the night, and then dashed off into the apartment without a word.

Sungjong took this as tacit permission to go further inside, especially since Dongwoo had dragged him in by the shirtfront in the first place, and followed the sounds of crashing to the open bathroom door just as Dongwoo re-emerged, triumphantly clutching his prizes in one hand, seizing Sungjong’s hand in the other, and dragging them into the next room. Sungjong couldn’t help but think that this hyung was becoming a whirlwind of frenzied activity. It was as Dongwoo turned back to him, because they were standing so close, that Sungjong realised he was not the only one whose body was making unreasonable demands.

Every second was definitely bringing him closer to making unreasonable demands of Dongwoo’s body, that much was certain. The latter had begun shucking his clothes, beginning with his t-shirt, and Sungjong’s strained senses, having satisfactorily identified the bed in the dimly lit room, took the opportunity to tip Dongwoo, trapped in his shirt, onto the mattress, producing a gratifying noise of protest.

He let well enough alone, though; having sufficiently communicated his intent, he stood back to become the voyeur and watch Dongwoo finish undressing, multitasking by unbuttoning himself from his brutally stifling jeans. Dongwoo, once naked, watched him back, studiously, that smug expression returning with a vengeance, and just begging to have Sungjong wipe it away.

He scrambled out of his jeans and yanked off his shirt, provoked by the way Dongwoo just _lounged_ there—legs apart, dick proud—and clambered onto the mattress on his knees, his hands taking hold of Dongwoo’s raised knees.

He slid his palms slowly down Dongwoo’s thighs, marvelling at the way the bulging quadriceps felt under his hands, and Dongwoo’s cock gave him all the answer he needed.

‘Give it here,’ he said, commanding, and Dongwoo handed him the packet of condoms and the lube without a word. As Sungjong rolled the thin rubber down over his own dick, though, he caught him trying to suppress a hungry smile by biting down on his lip.

Holding the rubber still with his fingers round the base of his cock, he stroked himself gently, smoothing the plastic over his skin, occasionally shooting Dongwoo a glance; a promise, borne out by the crass squelch of the lubricant as he squeezed it out along his length.

Dongwoo’s chest and stomach began to rise and fall more rapidly as he stared, seemingly transfixed by the movements of Sungjong’s hands.

He watched Sungjong’s hands, and Sungjong watched him.

‘Turn over, hyung,’ said Sungjong softly, after a moment.

Dongwoo complied, the quickness of his movements betraying his eagerness. Sungjong was glad that Dongwoo couldn’t see him smile. He was also glad Dongwoo couldn’t see the way his dick jumped, with humiliating eagerness, towards Dongwoo’s full, round ass—it was truly a sight to behold. So was the way his powerful gluteal muscles flexed beneath Sungjong’s left palm as he pressed the tip of one well-lubricated finger to Dongwoo’s hole.

He pushed in gently as Dongwoo heaved a breath and began to relax, dropping his upper body against the mattress.

Even in the half light, he rippled when he moved. Sungjong wished there was some way he could be in two places at once; some way he could get his face up to Dongwoo’s from here, to kiss him, or maybe slip his tongue into his ear in cruel mimicry of his finger in his ass, but his dick was hissing at him to never mind that now, there was plenty else that needed doing, and he better get to it or he was just going to make a mess that didn’t satisfy anybody.

‘More,’ said Dongwoo, his voice subdued, muffled by blanket, but the demand in his tone unmistakeable, so Sungjong did as he was told, sliding out the first finger and easing back in with two, pushing softly until Dongwoo’s body let him in.

He tried to wait a little, afterwards, and work with that, but Dongwoo was quite literally panting for it, his torso filling with deep and trembling breaths, and the degree of his arousal made it easy. By the time he said ‘You. Now’ Sungjong was in no position to refuse: he was so hard it was painful.

He eased his fingers out, and replaced them with the head of his dick at Dongwoo’s open hole, which undulated as though beckoning.

‘ _Please_ ,’ said Dongwoo, and Sungjong obliged. Holding himself steady against Dongwoo’s back with one hand and guiding himself into Dongwoo’s ass with the other, they moaned in sweet unison as he settled deep in Dongwoo’s body.

He took Dongwoo’s hips in his hands, then, and began to thrust: short, slow movements which left his eyelids fluttering and his head spinning from how Dongwoo tightened around him. Dongwoo, groaning softly with unmitigated pleasure, began to push back, and it was not long that, through their combined efforts, Sungjong learned an important thing or two about _just where_ Dongwoo liked it, because the soft groaning became outright gasps and wordless cries, and with a few quick tugs of his own cock Dongwoo came, in spectacularly messy fashion, all over the bedsheets. His convulsions around Sungjong gripped him so tight that it was almost painful, but he sank in deep as he could and, with a few rapid thrusts, was enveloped by the overwhelming sensation of release.


	7. Start of something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're not quite ready to talk about it, but it's there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Look at these adorable sweet potatoes. How offensive](https://31.media.tumblr.com/07a3fc212d36e6f2c4a5d7f803c80c3b/tumblr_nrx21hF70k1qg5nyao6_400.gif)

Sungjong opened his eyes the following morning to Dongwoo’s sleeping face, which, after a moment of bewilderment, gave him an overwhelming sense of...what, exactly?

He didn't know the name for it, in all honesty. He just knew that he felt safe and warm and comfortable, and the sight that met his eyes was incredibly soothing.

Dongwoo looked peaceful asleep. His floppy hair tumbled in a mess around his face, sticking up in some places and flowing onto the pillow in others. His eyelashes were tangled together, his face relaxed but for his tremendous lips, which curved in a soft smile.

Sungjong spent a long minute watching Dongwoo's exhalation send a loose tendril of hair dancing up over his cheek, the inhalation pulling it back down.

There was something very innocent and serene about this moment, and no matter what the future held, or what became of this chance encounter, he was painfully certain that Dongwoo trying to inhale his hair as he slept was a mental clipping that would be filed away in the back of his mind forever, labelled something along the lines of Uncomfortably Tender Feelings Of Welling-Heartedness That Start Too Soon.

It took him another moment or two to work out that what had woken him, the thing eating away at the corner of his awareness and disrupting the peace, was the sound of his phone vibrating urgently, muffled by the pile of clothes he'd left on the floor the night before.

He reached over the edge of the bed and fumbled around until finding the cause of the commotion.

The caller id read _Omma_ , and he realised, with a start, that he had not told her he would not be going home last night, and she'd be going spare.

He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, trying to collect his wits and work out what to say when he answered the call.

Speaking softly, so as not to disturb his bedmate, he got no further than one word, 'Omma-', before familiar, strident tones overrode him.

'Lee Sungjong, where on earth are you!?'

Sungjong passed his hand over his eyes, still at a loss for what to say.  _Hi, Omma, I met this guy two days ago, and last night I slept with him_ might not go down so well.

'Sorry, Omma-'

'Sorry? _Sorry!?_ Aigoo, Sungjongie, do you know how worried I've been? _Where are you?_ '

'I'm at a friend's house, Omma; it was getting late, so I stayed-'

'A _friend's_ house?' his mother echoed, her tone suddenly piqued with curiosity. 'Which  _friend_ might that be, Lee Sungjong? I rang some of your _friends_ early on last night, trying to work out where you were, and...Sungjong, did you go on a _date_? Ya, my son, did you... _omo_ , did you...?'

' _Mother_!' Sungjong hissed into the phone, blushing furiously, because indeed he had, but why oh why did she have to be so...so _perceptive_? He knew exactly what she'd be doing right now, too; the wide-eyed look and a hand over her mouth. 'I'll explain _later_!'

Oh, she was going to laugh at him when he got home. He could hear the beginnings of her smile in her voice as she said, 'Okay, okay, come home safely Sungjong-ah' in the singsong voice he had inherited from her. If she'd gone on to say anything else, though, he didn't hear it, because he hang up, dropping the phone back into the jumble of jeans and socks and shirts on the floor.

Dongwoo stirred behind him, and he turned round to be met with a wide, sleepy grin.

'Hey.'

'Hey. Sorry for waking you.'

'Nah, nah,' Dongwoo slurred, apparently not completely conscious yet, 'Nothing wakes me. Who was that?'

Sungjong averted his gaze, preferring to stare at his own naked thighs when he answered.

'My mother,' he admitted reluctantly.

'Oh. Okay.' Dongwoo nodded, made a face somewhere between understanding and a facial shrug, and then rolled onto his back, seizing one of Sungjong's hands and placing it on his own bare chest.

Sungjong, taking the hint, began to run his fingertips over the expanse of dense muscle under smooth skin, appreciating every millimetre.

Dongwoo smiled contentedly, and his eyes drifted closed. Once again, Sungjong felt a strange sense of protectiveness run through him. He let his fingertips trail all the way up, along Dongwoo's throat, and the older man only lifted his chin, to allow him better access. Blind trust.

For a long moment, Sungjong reflected on the little whirlpool of his thoughts, trying to work out what exactly it was that he was wanting to say.

It seemed important to say _something_ , before the moment to say it was gone: to make it clear that this was not One Night Only, nor a common occurrence. To let him know that it mattered. Most of all, he realised, he wanted to say these things for his own sake, so that he would feel like this unearned trust was somehow deserved.

'Dongwoo-hyung?'

'Mm?'

'I just want you to know that I...I'm not usually...like this.'

Dongwoo opened one eye, lazily, and smiled. 'You mean this isn't part of the washing machine service?'

Not sure whether to be amused or annoyed, Sungjong settled for frowning and flicking Dongwoo's nipple, which provoked an unexpectedly sexy noise of protest and a bark of laughter, somehow emitted simultaneously. It also inspired Dongwoo to sit all the way up, looking tragic and dishevelled, and fix Sungjong with a sleepy but level stare.

Sungjong's heart began to hammer as Dongwoo leaned forward, and soft lips brushed his ear.

'I don't usually shag the repairman,' he answered evenly, and drew back, grinning at Sungjong's stunned expression. ‘And don’t you dare say you’re surprised.’

Sungjong promptly purpled with embarrassment.

'Yah, I-I didn't mean that-' he began, but he was well and truly interrupted by the aggressive press of Dongwoo's thick, warm mouth, and by the time the kiss was finished, he felt weak: dazed and confused, but also slightly aroused.

'I know,' said Dongwoo, calmly. His hand had been resting over Sungjong's heart during the kiss, and he gave the drumming organ a pointed look before raising his eyes again with a smile.

'It's alright, Quick Fix,' he said, 'I think I know. And...me too.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's note:_  
>  Hi hello and thanks for reading to the end! I hope you enjoyed it, even if it wasn't what you were looking for, or what you were expecting. This here is my teeny little soapbox, where I'm going to leave my two cents about Infinite, Dongjong, and the fandom more generally. 
> 
> You may have noticed that I have written a Sungjong who is not particularly girly. This is because, although he has a soft voice and a pretty face and slightly 'effeminate' mannerisms, _he is not a girl_ , and one of the things that seems to happen a lot in fanfiction land is the tendency to write same-sex relationships along lines which mimic or imply gendered stereotypes. I don't really have a problem with people doing this. They have every right to write what they want. But my personal preference is to make a point of writing stories where the characters are able to reach a point of sexual and emotional equality. :D
> 
> Okay. Cool. I'm done preaching.
> 
> Hope you liked it! And please feel free to send me a message: all thoughts/feelings/comments/requests are welcome!


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